


YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6032569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>c.1971 Roger wakes Brian</p>
            </blockquote>





	YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this many years ago on Livejournal under a pseudonym, just in case anyone recognises it.

“YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Brian jerked awake hearing Roger screaming as he slid along the polished floor in socks, evidently trying to prove that not only did he have the voice of Roger Daltrey, but also the power slide of Pete Townshend, and the drumming capabilities of Keith Moon. If he had Entwistle’s fingers, they’d all be in trouble.

Brian threw a cushion at his offending bandmate from the couch on which he was currently sprawled, having passed out there the night before.

The force with which he threw it was enough to send Roger Taylor off balance, leading him to pirouette, crash through a vase on the coffee table, and topple over frontways right into the guitarist’s lap.

“Oof! Get off, Rog. I’m sleeping here.”

Roger made no apologies, and no attempts to move. “Well, you’re awake now, and it’s a three-seater couch. Just move your legs out of the way, Bri. I’m sitting here,” he said as he wriggled about trying to find a comfy spot on Brian in which to sit.

Having wriggled to his somewhat limited satisfaction, and Brian’s increasing discomfort, he looked down at the curly haired man, “Why the fuck don’t you eat something, Brian? You’re all bones and sharp angles.” Roger leant over moving in closer to the guitarist, “You alright, mate?” he asked as the colour seemed to be racing to Brian’s cheeks.

Brian struggled for breath, “I’d be a lot better off if you weren’t sitting on my –“

Roger wriggled again and Brian took in another shaky breath. Feeling something digging into his backside where previously had only been soft Brian-stomach, Roger jumped up as if he’d just sat on a cactus.

“Oh fuck, Bri!” Colour took its turn rising to his own cheeks this time, “M’sorry.” Roger looked both mortified and confused, staring down at the area from which he’d just suddenly vacated.

Brian coughed, “Erm, Roger?” It was one thing to get an erection with a hot body writhing in your lap, but another entirely to feel ones cock rising to the occasion simply from having it stared at. For some reason the prospect of sitting up didn’t cross Brian’s mind.

“Hmm, yeah Bri...?” Roger said distractedly, his eyes remaining trained on Brian’s ever-increasingly tight jeans.

“Could you, I don’t know - maybe quit staring at my crotch?” Brian said in what he hoped to be a forgiving, yet still definite tone.

“Hmm yeah, sure Bri,” Roger seemed not to have heard a word his guitarist had said.

Brian stretched back and brought another cushion from behind his head, placing it over his lap. He looked back at Roger expectantly, “OK, Rog. Why are you staring off into space, at my legs?”

Roger didn’t answer and Brian swivelled his legs around to stand up and see if there was a real reason for Roger’s unresponsiveness.

Quick as lightning, Roger scrambled to the couch, taking up the position Brian’s legs had been in. Brian groaned, “Christ, Rog! You didn’t go to all that trouble just for a spot on the couch? There are two other seats here, and with that one you’re sitting on the crack anyway!”

Brian suddenly realised that if he didn’t act quickly, Roger would have command of the entire sofa. He raced just as speedily to take up the space on the right.

Roger still refused to speak, instead swivelling his body around so his legs dangled off the side of the couch. Turning his body over, he lay down with his head in Brian’s lap, body facing the back of the couch.

Reflexively, Brian’s right hand reached down, threading itself through Roger’s long blonde hair. Roger let out a contented sigh and Brian let his own head fall back against the back of the couch as he shut his eyes, finally guaranteed some scream-free sleep. Scream free, that is, until Freddie got in from work to see his favourite vase smashed on the floor by the coffee table.


End file.
